Lonely Christmas
by Elaine27
Summary: If the weather prognosis was even remotely reliable, a change in current traffic conditions wasn't to be expected until late tomorrow. Possibly even longer. And to think he'd been looking forward to spending Boxing Day at his parents' for once. But there was no point in self-pity. After all, he didn't deserve anything else, nor earned the right to make demands for that matter.


**A/N:** This is a Christmas gift for my wonderful friend and awesome beta _ivefoundmygoldfish(melonpanparade)_. Thank you so much for your support 3  
Also, huge THANKS to _rougewinter_ for beta-reading!  
When I started working on this I was determined to write some nice and sweet Christmas fluff that somehow included glasses... *glances at fic* well...maybe next time ^^

In this story, Mycroft and Greg are married and close to Greg's grown-up daughter.

* * *

 **Lonely Christmas**

 _24th of December, Glasgow_

Snow, thick and clean swirled in unrecognisable patterns through the bitter cold winter air. The white lumps of frozen water blended in with the dull grey of the sky, making it impossible to say where exactly the clouds ended and where the sky began, or if it was simply a curtain of snow alone.

Maybe there was no sky anymore, Mycroft thought, his eyes gazing unfocused outside. Maybe, beyond the glass separating the warm room from the storm, there was nothing but emptiness. A wide, white ocean of wet, violently raging air. No ground, no canopy. Just the all-consuming coldness numbing your body and mind.

In the safety of the old house he'd been assigned, Mycroft once again glanced at the clock on the wall and then to his phone lying silent on the oaken table. Time, it seemed, still hadn't stopped, nor had his phone chimed with the message he so desperately wanted to receive.

Just five years ago, it wouldn't have bothered him to spend Christmas stuck in Scotland, waiting for an annoying meeting of all sorts of very equally annoying politicians who were stuck in traffic due to the bad weather. But now instead of an empty home, the welcoming smile and loving embrace of his dear husband were waiting for him, and the older Holmes brother found himself yearning for a quiet and intimate Christmas Eve. His hopes, however, that he'd make it home before the end of the day were slipping away with every passing second. Even if the meeting would take place in the next couple of hours and go by quickly, no pilot would dare fly his private plane in a snow blizzard nor would a car be efficient.

If the weather prognosis was even remotely reliable, a change in current traffic conditions wasn't to be expected until late tomorrow. Possibly even longer.

Fantastic.

And to think he'd been looking forward to spending Boxing Day at his parents' for once. But there was no point in self-pity, he decided. After all, he didn't deserve anything else, nor earned the right to make demands for that matter.

Gregory though. Gregory would be devastated and highly disappointed that his work had disrupted their plans again. Gregory would no doubt be angry that Mycroft had let his mind be tricked into the unforgivable promise that no, it was just a short meeting with the delegation of Scotland and Ireland. And that yes, Mycroft would do everything n his power to keep a foot on Scottish land for as long as possible. But he couldn't have predicted a bloody snow blizzard, could he?

It's the 24th of December, Mycroft chided himself, why _wouldn't_ there be snow, you idiot? His mind really was starting to decrease in its brilliance. All this sappy and clichéd Christmas traditions were seemingly affecting his brain cell activity. But oh, the sweet fluttering in his stomach at the thought of Christmas with Gregory, snuggled up in front of the fire, eggnog in hand. The sweet ache in his chest ignited by his darling's warmth embracing him completely, making it impossible for the cold outside the window to touch his skin. Soft flakes of snow drifted gently onto the window, the spectacle forgotten as they kissed beneath -

Mycroft's eyes flew open again. He couldn't remember having closed them, but the picture remained so clearly embedded in his inner eye, he feared closing them again. Too tempting was the desire to surrender to the daydream.

It took a few more minutes before Mycroft tore his gaze away from the hypnotising snow and stepped away from the window. His phone still hadn't made a sound, and Mycroft could feel the first icy tentacles of fear claw at his heart. Not for lack of news from the office, but his inability to reach Gregory, neither at home nor on his mobile. If his husband was truly angry, chances were Gregory was actively ignoring Mycroft's calls and his attempt at an explanation and apology for his absence. The thought was unbearable.

Sighing, Mycroft massaged the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger. Hoping he might be able to quench - or, at least, ignore - the growing tightness in his chest, he went back to his work. He was good at this after all, he thought ruefully. Good at being alone. And used to it.

~oOo~

 _London, two hours before_

Greg cursed, his hand hitting the steering wheel in an unsuppressed outburst of frustration. The fingers pressing the phone to his ear where white from the cold and anger.

"No, no, I won't accept that!" he huffed and air left his lungs in small clouds. "Even his parents were looking forward to it, for god's sake!"

Anthea's sigh was clearly audible over the phone. _"Detective Inspector, I know you are angry, but there's no reason -"_

"Of course I'm angry!" Greg exploded. "Holmes or not, he can't just _not_ participate."

 _"Detective-"_

"No, we planned this for weeks. Weeks, Anthea! And he couldn't even phone me himself."

"There are unfortunate circumstances that keep -"

"You know what," Greg cut her off. "I don't care. This is the last time! I'm done letting his work control everything else!"

Sensing she'd not be able to change his mind, Anthea tried to calm him, but Greg would hear nothing of it. His choice, no matter how irrational and founded on disappointment, was clearly made.

"I'm leaving. Don't bother contacting me again."

Without giving Anthea a chance to reply, Greg hung up and threw the phone aside. It landed on the foot mat of the passenger side before sliding under the seat as Greg angrily slammed his foot down on the accelerator.

~oOo~

When Mycroft looked up from his desk again, the sun had long disappeared. But instead of a beautiful landscape covered with untouched snow, the storm still raged and obscured the moon. Besides the dim light from his desk lamp, the house was dark and silent.

For a few seconds, Mycroft stared into the dark, listening to the strong howls of the wind tossing outside. Despite the comfortable warmth in the cozy room away from the storm raging outside, he felt strangely caged and a heavy weight lay on his chest, making it hard to breath.

His phone still lay silent beside him, almost mocking him, the many unanswered calls a testimony of what he'd lost. He'd tried calling every half hour and sent numerous texts, receiving no reply to any of them, before he finally gave up. There was no point bothering Gregory further on Christmas Eve. If leaving Greg alone was all Mycroft could do, then he would, no matter if it tore Mycroft's heart apart. He covered his tired face with his hands, his fingers were cold as ice.

A quick, reluctant glance at his watch told him it was just past 11pm and Mycroft sighed sadly. He closed his laptop, locked away the documents he'd been working through and left the study.

The living room was cold, but instead of turning on the heat, Mycroft simply let himself fall onto the sofa. It was incredible uncomfortable, but he felt he didn't deserve the warmth and softness of the huge bed upstairs. His suit jacket and waistcoat had been discarded long ago and he felt cold in just his suit trousers and shirt. A shiver ran through his body and Mycroft curled into himself on the couch, freezing hands and feet tucked under his body to maintain at least some of his body heat.

Without really intending to, his eyes fell closed and he drifted off thinking of what Gregory might be doing right now. In his dream, he could see Gregory sitting in an unfamiliar living room on a couch under a huge, beautifully decorated tree, his daughter leaning against him. He was wearing a blue jumper and smiling one of those huge smiles that never failed to make Mycroft's heart skip a beat. Soft music floated through the air, mixed with the sound of people chatting happily.

Tongue loosened by alcohol and eyes shining brightly, Gregory joined the conversation. He talked and his arms moved with an ease that was so unfamiliar to Mycroft, totally comfortable amidst all those people and Mycroft's absence completely forgotten. Two other people settled down beside Gregory, and as the clock chimed softly, one leaned over to kiss him. As they pulled apart, Gregory took the person's hand and laughed, the sound echoing clear and sharp in Mycroft's head.

~oOo~

Rough, warm hands softly caressed his face, incredibly hot against his icy skin. As he slowly returned to his senses, Mycroft noticed the weight of a blanket and the stinging of tears in his eyes. He could feel dried streaks on his face and he bit back tears as he remembered his dream, trying to curl into himself a bit more. His knees contacted with an obstacle and Mycroft became aware of something warm and solid beside him. He stiffened, eyes still closed and his mind still numb by sorrow.

When fingers returned to stroking his hair soothingly, Mycroft's eyes flew open and found soft brown ones staring back at him. Not quite processing what he was seeing, Mycroft stayed frozen while his heart thumped wildly against his ribcage.

Gregory smiled lovingly at him and continued stroking his face. "Hi."

When Mycroft didn't respond, Greg leaned forward to press his lips against the cool skin of Mycroft's forehead. "Why are you lying here in the cold? You're as cold as ice when I found you..."

Instead of answering, Mycroft fisted his hands into the warm softness of Greg's jumper, as if his husband might disappear at any moment. Feeling Mycroft's need for contact, Greg wrapped his free arm around Mycroft's shirt clad waist and pulled the other man closer.

Mycroft closed his eyes and buried his face in the warmth of Gregory's neck. His voice was rough with emotions when he spoke. "How can you be here? I thought you were celebrating Christmas with your family."

"Mycroft," Greg whispered against his hair. "You are my family. How could I celebrate Christmas without you?"

The fists in his shirt tightened. "I'm sorry for not being able to come back in time..."

"Hey, it's not your fault, I understand."

Slowly, Mycroft relaxed against Greg's body and breathed in his husband's scent. Greg was warm and soft and so incredibly familiar Mycroft wanted to cry. "How...?"

"Anthea phoned me to say that you were stuck in a snow storm and couldn't make it," Greg explained. "I wanted to call you, but it seemed like the storm disrupted the signal, and I couldn't stand the thought that you'd have to spend Christmas alone. So I packed the car and drove up here. I would have made it sooner, but I got held up in traffic once I reached the roads affected by the storm."

Mycroft couldn't believe Gregory had actually driven all this way just to see him. Despite the snow, and despite him breaking his promise, Greg had come. The last of Mycroft's misery was quickly replaced by joy and he could feel his body tingling with warmth.

"I tried calling and texting you," Mycroft explained. "But you didn't answer."

A huff of warm breath ghosted over his neck as Gregory laughed softly.

"Anthea called me as she realised what I was doing and tried to stop me; she was probably afraid I would get stuck and freeze to death. I was so frustrated that those bloody politicians would keep you from me and that you weren't even able to phone me yourself that I snapped at her. I was certain you'd lay the blame on yourself and would be determined not to let your work get in our way again. In my frustration, the phone landed under the passenger seat."

"Oh..." Mycroft whispered, speechless.

"Sorry for making you worry."

Mycroft drew back, met Gregory's eyes, then quickly lowered his gaze. "I thought you were angry..."

Although he didn't look at him, Greg understood his husband enough to know the emotions that were simmering just under the surface. He gently lifted Mycroft's chin so they were staring directly at each other and when icy blue eyes full of uncertainty returned his gaze, Greg leaned in to press their lips together. The kiss was loving and gentle, and full of emotions neither could completely put into words.

When they pulled apart, Greg smiled that beautiful, happy smile, and Mycroft's heart did indeed seem to skip a beat. "Merry Christmas, love."

"Merry Christmas, Gregory."

Arms wrapped tightly around each other, they soon fell asleep. The storm continued to rage and the air in the house was still cold, but underneath their blanket, sharing their body heat, neither man wished to be anywhere else.

* * *

 _Of course, Greg's car is full of presents from Mycroft's parents, Sherlock, Anthea and his daughter ;)_

 _Merry Christmas to you all!_


End file.
